"The sound of wind and rain at night, how many flowers have fallen." - Inscription
Always remembered in dreams, always indulged in tenderness. In the past, every spring, I would stand alone under the eaves and watch the thin threads of rain gently beating the petals. The lovely flowers could not bear the weight and fell down. As the wind blows, it floats down, dancing like spring flowers. I have never shown too much love for flowers. Although she is beautiful, I have a crazy love for Luo Hua, her softness and a touch of sadness. She touches my heart, or I am completely immersed in her unique fragrance. Once upon a time, it was not March, and in a trance, I fixed my soul in my long-lasting memory. I stood in front of the window and stared blankly at the sky. My tangled thoughts were wet with the rain, and I wrote down the confusion in my heart. In the dim sky. You turned away from the frozen winter and smiled at the coming spring. Did you come in a hurry just to leave in a hurry? I stood at the entrance of the tunnel of time and looked at you, watching your tears slip through the wind, and the dust quietly drifted away in front of those helpless words. When you stretched out your hand, you caught your cold heart beating alone. Yes, you will be the goddess of spring.
Thank you for the flowers blooming in the past life, and regret the lingering love in this life.
And now, it is spring again and March again. I will still watch the flowers fall under the eaves, but without the ecstasy I once had. It seems like she can no longer touch my heart. I will still look up at the sky in front of the window. Watching the rain fall, but I couldn't hear the sound she gave me at one point. And she and I are strangers to each other. I appreciate them but don't indulge in them. They just pass through my mind and are no longer unforgettable.
Falling flowers sway in the night wind. They say yes, flowers bloom only for the people who have spent time in the past, but when they fall into the soil, who are they for? Tonight, if the red dust turns into a grave, whose eyebrows will be burned if it hurts?
The wind hurt Yu’s figure and scattered it on the ground. On my window, at the same time, it gently patted me in my sleep, creating a spring poem that touched so many people, but also broke so many people's hearts.
The situation has been decided, and it is difficult to decide. The melancholy rain is trailing whose thoughts? The whisper of falling flowers is dyed with whose legend.
Outside the window, the rain has stopped. The flowers were scattered all over the ground, but the dream still didn't wake up.